


The Foxhole Court and the Curious Case of the Halloween Haunts

by Saul



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, M/M, Silly Spook Spectacular
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 03:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8517352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saul/pseuds/Saul
Summary: A collection of Fox-related stories and what-ifs, from vampires to clowns to getting lost in the fairywood.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> all of these were done in celebration of reaching 1000+ followers on my creative tumblr, [unkingly](https://unkingly.tumblr.com/). thanks to all followers, whether lurkers or mutuals or chatty friends, for making my experience in the tfc fandom during these last eight months a magical one. thank you so, so much; the constant feedback (in likes, reblogs, comments and kudos) has absolutely given me the guts and inspiration to continue writing for this fantastic series.
> 
> hope you can muster up some halloween spirit to reread these even if October is a bit in the past. 
> 
> and now, on to the spooks!
> 
> in this one, the prompt: _the foxhole court is haunted._

“I know you’re new here,” Matt explained on the way from the locker room to the court, “and your cousin looks ready to take on the world, but there’s some things we don’t mess with.”

Glancing back from his cousin (but no, he wasn’t taking on the world, he was just smiling creepily at the more outspokenly homophobic fifth years, _great_ ) Nicky side-eyed Matt.

“Some things like… salt on the windowsills.”

“It seems to help.”

“And the holy water by the doors that, uh, what’s her name–”

“Renee?”

“– Yeah, her - the ones she manages.”

“Those definitely help. She learned from a professional.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I know what you’re thinking–”

“You keep saying it helps, but with _what?_ ”

Matt cut a hand through the air, struggled for words, and finally, shrugged.

“At first, I didn’t believe it either. But, it’s. Well. Take my word for it: the court’s haunted.”

Nicky laughed.

Matt did not.

Nicky stopped laughing.

“Sorry,” Nicky said, smile strained, “I don’t usually ask this before we at least have a dinner, but: come again?”

“Don’t touch the salt or the holy water, don’t mess with the court or the equipment, and don’t smoke in doors and everything will be fine.”

“Don’t mess with the equipment,” Nicky deadpanned.

“As far as anyone can tell, we’re haunted by a pretty intense Exy fan. It doesn’t like our practice being interrupted.”

“Or smokers?”

They had arrived at the glass entrance to said court, Matt’s head ducked and expression pinched. The girls had finished beforehand; Captain Wilds shouted something about getting a move on, but Nicky, for one, ignored her.

He asked, “Are you trying to scare us into good behavior?” And then, insulted on the behalf of his cousins’ records - jesus christ, had these Foxes passed around their files and _laughed_ at them, or what? - “Do you really think we’re that stupid?”

“Please, just,” Matt started, took a look at his face, and let gave it up. He left to join the girls with a weary, “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

Damn. And he’d thought the meek, cute one would be the good one.

Not that it mattered, but _ghosts._ Really? His cousin might have been crazy, but that was just insulting.

Everyone turned out to buy into it, too. Even the coach. Rather, _especially_ the coach - he had a few rules to add to Matt’s. When Andrew threw back his head and laughed himself off the chair, Nicky for once agreed.

He said nothing when, the very next day, Andrew walked with a bounce in his step and whistle on his lips and methodically re-arranged the well organized equipment closet into a pit of disarray. Aaron said nothing, either. The Captain interrupted his manic spree with a snarl to _knock it off, or it’ll be your funeral!_ , but that just made Andrew take and up-end a box of Exy balls into the middle of the court.

He did notice how the rest of their teammates, even the asshole fifth years, gave them a wide breadth after that. He noticed and mostly succeeded at not feeling nervous about it.

“He deserves it,” Aaron muttered to him in German, “if anything does happen.”

“But,” Nicky said, needing reassurance, “nothing will happen.”

“Obviously.”

“Right,” Nicky said, and stifled a nervous laugh.

And then, a box of spare gear did fall from its very secure perch on the top shelf and onto Andrew’s head. To add insult to injury, Andrew’s helmet refused to budge from his head at the end of practice. Wymack had to cut it off.

Nicky said, “Maybe, um, we shouldn’t–” as Andrew purposefully swept the salt free from the windowsills.

Even though their teammates redid the salt on the windowsills, the next time Andrew went to open his locker, he jerked his hand back with a startled hiss. His fingers were as red as if they’d been dipped in boiling water, but when Nicky touched his door, the metal was cool.

In response to Wymack’s pursed lips and order to knock it off, Andrew lit a cigarette in the break room.

The smell of smoke followed him for the rest of the week. The second he stepped onto the court, it was there.

It made Nicky gag, it made Aaron hold a cloth over his face if he had to play near Andrew, it made Seth Gordon snap, “You need a blood message on the mirror to get the point, bitch?”

Andrew shrugged it off with a wide, wide grin. “If it has the balls to talk, it knows where to find me.”

The next morning, Nicky walked into the locker room to hiccuping laughs.

 _PRACTICE_ , demanded the blood red message on the mirror.

“Will you leave it be now?” Nicky asked, or - depending on your generosity - begged. He liked neither the message nor his cousin’s reaction.

“That’s not even threatening. It’s just obsessed with Exy!” Andrew cackled. “What a shitty ghost.”

That day, very nearly every ball sent flying slammed into Andrew’s feet. Some ricochets weren’t even physically _possible._

Andrew not only took it in stride, but as a challenge. His grin was less wide and more _intrigued._

(Nicky, and the rest of the team, quietly despaired.)

 

* * *

 

 

**( MONTHS LATER )**

 

“Since when,” Andrew asked, slow and easy and not an inch away from Kevin’s face, “do you actively provoke Riko Moriyama?”

They were on the way back from Kathy’s show. Kevin, fists clenched around his knees, sat in the back seat next to Andrew, their gazes locked by proximity.

“I,” Kevin started, stopped, and swallowed.

Andrew’s eyebrow quirked. The corner of his mouth jumped to follow.

Kevin took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“I don’t remember anything after walking onto the stage.”

“You’re not a funny man, Kevin.”

“I don’t. I only remember after, with– when- you, and,” and, Kevin again stopped. The next word was pained. “Riko.”

Andrew’s eyes were fever-bright. He huffed a laugh, Kevin edging back from the puff of air against his face.

“I’ll do my best to protect you, but I won’t hold you back from throwing yourself to the wolves.”

“I told you,” Kevin said, teeth grit, fear lining his frame, “I don’t remember anything that I said. I wouldn’t— I’d never–”

“You acted like an idiot.”

Annoyance flashed across Kevin’s face. He took a deep breath, knuckles and fingers white, opened his mouth –

“Make sure to think,” Andrew encouraged, “before speaking. Even if now it doesn’t matter.”

– and _glared._

“Do you ever shut up?”

Both of Andrew’s eyebrows joined his hairline.

(In front of them, Nicky and Aaron’s heads turned, their eyes wide as saucers.)

“You act like a tough guy,” Kevin snapped, exasperated and pissed in one messy combination, “but as it stands, you’re a glorified guard dog. When are you going to take a real stand?”

Andrew repeated blankly, “A real stand.”

“Yes. Actually practice and participate, for one. The only way to really get back at Riko is to beat him at his own game. Make the Ravens take the fall in the Spring Tournament.”

Andrew’s expression flattened.

Peering over the seat, Nicky blurted, “Exy. You’re talking about Exy.”

Kevin spared him a glance, but refocused on Andrew. “It’s the best way. You have to see that.”

Andrew stared.

Kevin stared back.

“Say that again,” Andrew said. “Here and now. I dare you.”

Kevin blinked.

And sucked in a deep, whistling breath, his face sheet-white, hands splaying over his knees. His eyes jumped from Andrew to Nicky and back again, pressing back against the seat.

“What?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

“That was weird,” Nicky observed. “I can’t believe you’re talking about Exy now. Even for you, Kevin, that’s weird.”

Kevin frowned at him.

“Don’t,” Andrew said, “leave my side.”

“I wasn’t planning on it?” Kevin paused. “Riko. We need to–”

“We will discuss what to do,” Andrew interrupted, at last sitting back and giving Kevin space, “later.”

Kevin’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. After a moment, Nicky and Aaron sank back down into their own seats. The Foxes up front paid the odd Monsters no mind, but Andrew shot him a look from the corner of his eye. Kevin, of course, looked nothing less than stressed (about Riko, surely) and confused (about the sudden tension turned on him, probably).

It was a long ride home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: killer clown sightings in South Carolina. specifically, Palmetto State.

“It could be worse,” Neil pointed out, “I could dress like him.”

“Like who?” Allison demanded, turning on the spot and scoping the crowd for someone who could possibly dress worse than Neil Josten.

There wasn’t much of a crowd. Even if there had been, it wasn’t hard to spot the person Neil talked about: he was six foot odd inches, dressed in bright yellow and white tipped with fire engine red, and carried what appeared to be a bowling pin. His wig was part bald cap, part frizzy yellow, and his face make up – white mask outlined in thick black – had seen better days.

He caught the eye. Allison wasn’t sure how she’d missed him.

Probably because it was a dark night in late fall, and they had _just_ gotten back from the mall, so her mind was more on the gifts she’d brought for Renee and Dan than out-of-place clowns.

Allison crossed her arms, tapped her foot, and gave in just a little. “Okay. Fine. You could be dressed like him.”

Someone near him yelled _hey, bobo, it’s not Halloween!_ The clown turned to give them a smile, hefting his pin up in an acknowledging wave.

For one reason or another, it sent a chill down Allison’s spine.

“I’m not scared of them or anything stupid like that,” she said, “but that one’s fucking weird.”

The clown still hadn’t turned away from the guy who yelled at him. The guy, trying to laugh it off with his pals, continued by.

The clown, after a moment, followed.

Neil said, “We should go.”

When Allison glanced at him, he didn’t look spooked, but he looked blank. Neil was at times distant, distracted and, most often, confused. He would deny this if approached, Allison was sure, but he’d acted confused at their fucking _movie party invitations_ and the rest of his entire first year at Palmetto State and it was both the most annoying and saddest thing, no Fox would forget it.

Distant, distracted, and confused. Those were patented Neil Josten expressions.

But, blank?

It sent another chill down Allison’s spine, but that one wasn’t as easy to shake off.

“Yeah, alright. They’ll start bitching if we don’t get back soon.”

She had to clear her throat before she spoke, but her words did _not_ wobble or break, because she was Allison Reynolds and Allison Reynolds did not get spooked by creepy clowns or sons of mafia men.

A week later, the story of a killer clown hit the air.

Neil didn’t look surprised.

Allison didn’t ask how he knew.

(“Are you still afraid of clowns?” Kevin asked. “I remember–”)

(“Shut up,” Neil snapped back, hunkering down and pretending the world hadn’t just validated his one socially acceptable fear.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: it's Halloween night and the foxes decide that they wanna marathon scary movies and Nicky thought it would be funny to scare both Neil and Kevin who were the last ones to arrive. Little did he know Neil was having a bad day so when he goes to scare them Neil punches him in the gut and takes off running with Kevin in hand because he happened to be near him.

“Where are we?”

Neil had run the grounds around Palmetto time and time again. As they drew to a stop and he looked around at a forest thick enough to swallow them whole, he had to admit:

“I don’t know.”

A twig snapped.

Kevin snagged his arm, his fingers digging in. Neil didn’t have to look at him to see his fear.

Still. He was a Day, and an ex-Raven besides: he did a damn fine job covering his alarm in loud irritation.

“What do you _mean_ you don’t know?”

“You’ve been here longer,” Neil snapped back, his irritation real and fearless, “shouldn’t you know about the dense forest a mile from campus?”

There was no way they’d ran a mile. Neil had realized soon after bolting from the parking lot that he had no reason to run because the guy in the mask hadn’t been a trained professional, and he should’ve known from Andrew’s clear lack of panic and how he _hadn’t_ tailed Neil, and also - as Kevin would undoubtedly say - because the one he’d pulled along had spent a fair amount of their retreat demanding _where the fuck are we going?_

As expected, Kevin accused:

“You took us here. How did you not know where you were going?”

He’d been panicked. He’d thought one of Moriyama’s men were bringing reminders for the former members of Riko’s perfect court.

Looking back at Kevin, Neil knew he could not in any way admit that.

Even if he had, it didn’t change the fact that they… were lost.

“Let’s just,” Neil sucked a breath in and blew it out, fighting down the urge to shake Kevin off of his arm, “turn around.”

It ended up being that Neil had to turn them around. Kevin shuffled after him, too close for either of their comfort but unwilling to acknowledge it.

Another twig snapped.

Kevin whirled on the spot and demanded, “Who’s there?”

Just as Neil said, “Calm down, it’s an animal,” a very large, very dark shadow zipped by overhead, Kevin swallowing back a yelp, his hand once again at Neil’s arm, Neil’s exhaustion mixing once again with acute panic, and -

They were running. Again.

It had been dark, but it somehow grew darker. Although Neil was certain they were running in the direction they’d came and knew for a fact Palmetto was surrounded by open fields, the trees pressed closer. The underbrush grew, catching at their shoes and pants legs. The black could be likened to pitch, until a sliver of moonlight broke from the leaves and Neil realized he was headed right for a large oak tree.

He tried to stop. He would’ve, if Kevin hadn’t been all but stepping on his feet; not seeing the tree as Neil had, he smacked full on into Neil’s back, and they tumbled, together, into the oak.

It hurt. Smashing into trees usually did. Neil was sure he’d scraped up his face. It would be a miracle if he wasn’t bleeding.

An elbow was in his face, dangerously close to his eye. He shoved it away, realized Kevin had his foot in his gut, barely understood where the rest of his limbs were, and struggled to separate.

“Get off me!”

“I’m trying!”

“Do you need help?”

They froze.

They looked up.

A face looked down from the oak’s lowest branch, its features small, pointed and, somehow, glowing. It had to be the beam of moonlight that had tipped Neil off to the tree in the first place; it had to hit them just right to give them such a silver-blue aura.

“You seem lost,” it said.

“Uh,” Kevin started.

“We’re not,” Neil cut in, everything in him screaming mistrust.

“I’m sure you are,” it huffed. “Why lie? It’s rude to lie.”

“Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” Kevin asked.

Neil looked again.

Kevin was right. It wasn’t wearing clothes. Or if it was, it was wearing a very convincing morph suit.

“I don’t need clothes to help you,” it said.

“We don’t need help,” Neil re-iterated.

“You do. You’re lost. This is fairy wood, and you don’t want to be lost in fairy wood.”

“We–”

“Fortunately,” it said, louder, “I can help you leave in a timely manner. I’m a fairy; naturally, I know the way out.”

“Naturally,” Kevin deadpanned.

Neil, remembering their entanglement, shoved Kevin off. He stood, face and joints aching, and brushed off his jeans while Kevin, too, found his feet.

“You need my help,” it cooed. “Trust me.”

If there was ever a way to make Neil do the opposite–

“We’re fine,” he replied, voice tight. This person was obviously a freak. “We’ll find our way out.”

“We shouldn’t be too hasty,” Kevin murmured, his voice – odd. Less dour than normal. Musing, even. “We didn’t do too well on our own.”

“Yes!” The creature clambered up, one twig arm latched around the tree for balance, the other outstretched to waggle a finger in their direction. It was very short, its limbs rail-thin but belly round as a pot. If they were on equal footing, it couldn’t have come up higher than his belly-button. “Exactly. But I know the way. The exit’s very close. It’d be no trouble at all for you or me.”

“We’re fine,” Neil repeated.

“You’re really not.”

“We _really are_.”

“Now, see here–”

Neil turned on a heel to stomp away. He stopped only because Kevin didn’t follow; his expression was twisted with uncertainty, his eyes glued to the weirdo in the tree.

It cried, “I know the exit, I know the exit! You think you’re lost now? You’ve no idea how long it will take to leave on your own!”

“If you wouldn’t min–”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Neil snapped, snagging Kevin’s arm to drag him back, “but no thanks.”

“Let the poor man speak, you mean, nasty liar!”

Ignoring it, Neil did as he’d done before. He turned the way they’d came, and walked.

“He was going to help us,” Kevin protested in the tone of voice Neil recognized to mean Kevin thought he knew the answer to everything, “why can’t you ever accept help? You should trust more.”

“Sure.”

“We’re going to be lost _all night_.”

“Please. We barely took any time getting in here. I’d rather we be lost for a bit longer than trust a creepy, naked… tree-hermit.”

Kevin did not agree. Neil, his nerves frayed from the entire day, shut down on indulging his argument, and kept them moving forward.

—

They made it out of the forest by dawn’s first light, which made absolutely no logistical sense given their initial sprint from the Tower’s parking lot hadn’t been longer than ten minutes. Neil had forgotten to charge his phone (Kevin berated him for that, too, but complaining seemed to be Kevin’s only way of not completely losing his head, so Neil left him to it) and Kevin’s received no reception ( _so it wouldn’t have mattered if I charged my phone!_ \- _it’s the principle of the thing, Neil, you always forget to charge your phone, it could be useful in other situations!_ ).

The strange little creature hadn’t directly shown its face again, but its voice had wormed into their ears at particularly disheartening points of their wandering. As it so happened, the creature became their main point of contention.

(That, and who Neil had punched out. Kevin put bets on it being Nicky. Neil, for the sake of argument, blamed an unrelated-to-Exy student.)

But they made it out without agreeing to anything.

Though exhausted to the bone, Neil had the mind to tell Kevin, “Told you so.”

Kevin glared and, for the first time that night, took the lead. His feet dragged with every step. Neil didn’t blame him. They had gone from a night practice to a full night’s trek through the woods.

The Tower was close and, moreover, familiar. They trudged to the doors dirty and exhausted. While Kevin fished the key from his pocket, his fingers mud-streaked and clumsy (his left hand had to be bothering him with how he fumbled, but Neil had the grace not to point that out), Neil leaned and all but passed out against the wall.

When he looked back, there was no forest. That was, he thought, concerning.   
He didn’t really care, though. He just wanted to go to sleep.

Just as the lock clicked, someone on the other side shoved the door open.

It was Nicky. He had his gym bag over his shoulder, wore a pastel-blue collared shirt, and looked twenty degrees of shocked.

“There’s no team practice this morning,” Kevin immediately commented, his voice as disgruntled as they both felt. “Why do you have your gym bag?”

Nicky’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates.

“Nicky,” Neil said, because he wasn’t one for bets, but it felt like Kevin and he had discussed the possible victim for years and he wanted the case closed, “did I punch you last night? If so, sorry, but you should’ve known better.”

“That’s really you,” Nicky whispered. “Neil? Kevin.”

Neil frowned.

Kevin also frowned.

At their twin looks of befuddlement, Nicky stuttered, “It’s– been years.”

“Is this another joke? Really,” Neil forced himself to take a breath and start a count to ten, “I’m sorry I punched you. But. You shouldn’t have crept up on me like that.”

“You did punch me,” Nicky said in a rush, “but it’s- fine, it’s fine, I– where have you two been? Oh, god. I have to tell my cousins. I have to tell… Coach. It’s really you?”

“This isn’t funny,” Kevin said, exasperated and exhausted. Neil silently, vehemently, agreed.

“It isn’t. It wasn’t. You have to understand,” Nicky stumbled back, and Neil’s stomach sank, a cold block of ice dropped right in, because no, Nicky didn’t seem to be lying or joking, Nicky was _scared_ , he was– sad. He was sad.

He said, “We thought you were dead.”

Kevin’s back went rigid.

“Oh,” Neil said, his count to ten thoroughly shattered, “is that all.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: andrew in hell.

“It’s really unfortunate Neil couldn’t come.”

“…”

“He passed along well-wishes. I told him not to worry, that you’d definitely be able to bring home extras.”

“…”

“How is he doing? With the big games and, his team and, ah-mn, everything.”

“Fine.”

“That’s— great.”

“…”

“Really great.”

“…”

“Do you like chocolate?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, isn’t that funny! So does my Aaron. Can’t wait for cake; it has a fudge filling. _And_ , it’s even shaped like a giant snickers bar. It’s amazing what they can, um, do. Nowadays.”

“…”

“Right.” Clapping her hands together, Katelyn smiled wide and forced. “Are we ready for the main course?”

With one last _would you at least try_ glance to her husband, she beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

“Andrew,” Aaron hissed the moment she disappeared around the corner, as if that meant she couldn’t clearly hear everything said at the dining table, “be a little fucking civil for once in your stupid life.”

“It’s our birthday,” Andrew drawled back, unmoved, “I shouldn’t have to do anything I don’t want to.”

“Katelyn wanted this,” Aaron growled, “and I want her to be happy. Can’t you accept that?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

It was a look that used to button Aaron’s lip and send Nicky skittering away. Now, six years after Palmetto State and one year post-med school, Aaron glared back.

“Your boytoy can’t be here, and that sucks. But you’re going to suck it up.” Katelyn called that she needed help carrying the pot roast; Aaron stood, one finger jabbed in Andrew’s direction (but, carefully, out of biting range). “Consider it my birthday gift.”

Aaron had no idea why Andrew hated their birthday, and he didn’t really care. He went to help his wife with the pot roast.

Under the table, Andrew scrolled past fifteen new _happy birthday!! :D_ messages from Nicky and texted Neil, _I hope you trip on the way to tonight’s goal._

Neil replied with an off-center photo of the game’s scoreboard. Their team was up by a dozen points.

What restraint he had left he used to not throw his phone across the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: one of the Foxes is replaced with a malicious shapeshifter.

“Kevin’s in the infirmary.”

“Again?”

“Again. Abby says he’ll have to sit out for a week if he doesn’t want to risk permanent bench time.”

“Huh.”

Dropping his bag at the door, Neil waited for Andrew to scoot over and give him a clear space to sit. After a moment, Andrew obliged him, though his gaze had fixated on the wall and the look in his eyes was far-away. Neil gave him time to parse through whatever it was he was thinking. He’d been acting space-y since Kevin’s first injury even though it had been a clear and complete accident.

Once was an accident, Neil reminded himself. Twice was an unlucky coincidence. Kevin was meticulous in how he cleaned his gear; there was no reason his shin guard should have snapped like flimsy cardboard _twice_ on the first on-court hit.

Just as there was no reason Matt woke time and again with food poisoning. He _was_ benched for the next two matches; he could keep nothing down, and his physical health had deteriorated in time. It had hit the point that Wymack put him on a specialized diet as recommended by Abby, but it would take time to shake off what damage had been done to his stomach.

Matt’s gaunt face watching from the bench during practice, strained and ever-tired, made drills tense for everyone from Dan to Allison to Neil himself.

At the time, Andrew hadn’t cared. Matt had the tendency to forget to check his food’s expiration dates. Everyone knew that.

But then Kevin was down, too. Not for long, but enough to be maddening and suspicious.

(The new Foxes weren’t sure what to make of their upperclassmen’s close bond, and largely kept their comments to themselves on what to do with Kevin or Matt. _That_ was the only saving grace.)

“If I didn’t know better,” Andrew said after a long pause, Neil curled on one end of the couch with the tips of his socked feet stuck under Andrew’s leg, “I’d say we’re being sabotaged.”

Neil had considered it.

But the thing was: “By who? They’d have to have full access to the Tower. They’d also have to know us really well.”

He hadn’t realized how stabling of a presence Matt Boyd was until he’d been gone. The upperclassmen fell apart over his pain, the twins’ and Kevin’s callous nature came into sharp relief, and Nicky was left scrambling on the in-between. Neil himself hadn’t known what to do, and put his all into making sure Matt’s lack wouldn’t see the Foxes lose. It was the least, he thought, he could do.

Andrew thought about it and, finally, shrugged one shoulder.

Neil raised an eyebrow. Andrew had an idea of who - he just wasn’t certain, and so didn’t want to say.

“It’s something to keep in mind.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Neil warned, trying not to feel prickled that Andrew wouldn’t include him. It was only, he reminded himself, because Andrew wasn’t certain.

Andrew tapped a finger against his knee, his expression darker. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.”

Outside, Nicky’s voice filtered in.

“Renee! Hey!”

“Nicky, hello. I was just about to ask Andrew if he’d like to take a break and spar. How was class?”

Neil watched Andrew’s frown deepen.

“Oh, it was fine. Prof’s crazy, but that makes it fun. I think Andrew should be in…”

A key jangled in the lock. Nicky waltzed through with a cheery _hey, honeys, I’m home!_ , his smile strained at the edges. Renee, her smile softened at the edges with sympathy, stayed at the door. Raising one hand to wave at Andrew and Neil, she asked, “If you have a moment, Andrew?”

“She wants to spar,” Nicky said unnecessarily.

For two seconds (Neil’s eyebrows furrowed), Andrew remained still.

Then, without a word, he nodded and stood. He gave Nicky a long, considering look as he left; Renee, in her typical method of easing the tension in a room, wished Nicky and Neil a good evening, and bid them good-bye before turning to follow.

Neil’s phone chirped not ten seconds later.

It said, from Andrew: _I’ll be back in an hour. Watch Nicky._

That was… unusual.

But Andrew couldn’t be suspicious of Nicky’s intentions. Neil glanced over the couch’s back to the happily humming senior. When he caught sight of Neil watching, he waved. “I’m making stir-fry. You want in on it?”

“Sure,” Neil said after a moment.

With a grin, Nicky pulled vegetables from the fridge and rummaged through the drawers for the proper knife and cutting board.

Nicky wasn’t the cleanest. He wasn’t the nicest, though he tried. Neil would never forget the first few months he’d spent in Palmetto; though Nicky had since mellowed (possibly from finally having friends outside of his cousins), the guy easily fell back into his habits of being…. overzealous.

Besides. Matt had been one of the first to give Nicky a second chance, and Nicky knew better than to hurt Kevin even if Andrew had put Neil above him in priority.

(That was still odd to think. Mostly, Neil tried not to.)

So, it couldn’t be Nicky.

But, as asked, Neil stayed with him for the hour. They had slightly undercooked and gooey stir-fry. Nicky yammered to fill the silence. Aaron returned from class, took a plate of offered stir-fry, and challenged Nicky to Mario Kart. Neil watched.

Nothing happened.

The hour passed.

Neil texted Andrew, _Where are you?_

He received no response.

Another hour passed.

“Neil?” Nicky asked. Neil blinked, and realized the game - not Mario Kart, not any longer - was paused, Aaron and Nicky staring at him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, automatic and hollow.

Nicky didn’t look like he believed him, but after a moment, he just asked, “Is Andrew coming back soon?”

“He should be.”

After another beat of hesitation, Nicky nodded.

Aaron unpaused the game. They flew through the level. Neil watched the clock.

Outside, it had grown dark. For that reason but not that reason only, Neil noticed the flashing red lights of an ambulance _immediately._

“Yikes,” Nicky said, his own eyes drawn once Neil pushed off the couch to peer out the window, “wonder who that’s for?”

“Did you say Renee asked Andrew to spar?” Aaron asked.

“Yeah. She was waiting outside.”

“Weird,” he muttered, voice bored, “ _she_ never asks _him._ ”

“Yeah, well, it’s been stressf– Neil? Hey! Where are you going?”

Out. He was going out.

A blink, and he was down the stairs.

A blink, and he was out the doors.

A blink, and Renee’s tear-stained face filled his vision. She held him back from the ambulance. She told him he could do nothing, that there had been an accident and if he got in the way, they might not be able to help Andrew in time.

With strength he’d known she’d possessed but had never witnessed off the court, she held him back.

The paramedics wheeled Andrew, his chest stained with multiple pockets of dried blood and mouth covered by an oxygen mask, into the ambulance. They took him away.

Police had arrived not a minute after the ambulance, and they were looking for answers.

Renee told him over the wail of sirens and flashing lights, “You should go to him. Who knows how long he’ll last?”

Neil looked into her eyes.

He had never liked Renee Walker. He imagined he never would. But he had played alongside her, and respected her, and understood her concern for the Foxes, distant and muted though it was by years of abuse. She always wore a smile, gentle and practiced.

Her smile then was gone, but the emotion he found was as practiced as his own. A chill crawled down his spine.

The police approached for questions.

She repeated, “Neil. You should go.”

She had been outside their door. She had been listening. She may have heard.

He felt, abruptly and terrifyingly, cold.

Andrew could be dying because of an accident with knives he knew better than the back of his own hand, or because of her. One of those was much more likely than the other. Leaving her near the rest of the Foxes went against everything he knew about loyalty. He needed to warn them. He needed to understand what Renee Walker had done.

“Andrew’s dying,” she said, her tears dripping from her cheeks. “ _Go._ ”

In that, he trusted her. Terrified, he trusted her.

Double-checking the Maserati’s keys in his pocket, he went for Andrew.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: neil turning into lucifer from the book "horns."

“Have you noticed anyone acting… odd?”

“I try not to notice how anyone acts.”

“Really odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Overly honest.”

“That’s hardly a vice.”

“Yeah, but they don’t do honest as well as you.”

Andrew gave him a considering frown.

Neil continued with, “Allison told me she wanted to rob a bank with Matt’s truck,” and Andrew’s expression flattened. For a second, Neil had talked sense. Almost flirty. The heart of the matter was more true to the Josten he knew.

Unfortunately for Andrew, the heart of the matter didn’t stop at Reynolds’ criminal leanings.

“Nicky was planning on indulging his professor’s drinking habit to get a better grade. Aaron wants to elope with Katelyn. Kevin–” Neil grimaced. Paused. Straightened. And looked a bit considering, not unlike Andrew’s earlier consideration. “… He has some ideas about the court and racquets that–”

“No,” Andrew interrupted, mouth a thin line. “If Kevin envisioned it, I don’t want to know. Are you going somewhere with this? You’re being overly honest.”

Neil scratched his chin, tapped a foot, and didn’t once break eye contact to blink.

“Do you notice anything odd about… me?”

Andrew stared.

Looked him over.

And returned to staring.

Neil huffed. “You don’t.”

“Should I?”

“I suppose not.” Neil’s hands tapped at his temples. Andrew checked him again for a new injury, a new scar, or a new blood stain. There was nothing.

He shrugged, hands out.

“Horns,” Neil said, and tapped again at his temples. “Do you not see these? They’re getting bigger.”

“Oh.” Somehow, Andrew had missed those. But even when he looked at the twisting, blood red bone growing from Neil’s temples, he didn’t think they were particularly odd. “Are they?”

Now it was Neil’s time to stare.

Dropping his hands to his sides with a bit-off sigh, he let his exasperation creep to the surface.

Feeling tired, he asked, “You don’t have anything overly honest to tell me?”

“Nothing I haven’t already.”

Neil blinked.

And, growing horns aside, smiled.

Andrew eyed him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Knock it off,” Andrew grumbled, “your face, more than those horns, is creeping me out.”

Neil's smile didn’t drop an inch.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: blood play kink.
> 
> because I can't ever pwp andreil, it turned into more of a vampire au (based off [this verse](https://unkingly.tumblr.com/post/146349086504/alternate-universe-in-which-vampires-are-a-thing), but all you need to know is Kevin and Neil are vampires and Andrew is not). so! **warning** for oblique references to self harm and andreil getting frisky in a locker room.

_Don’t waste food. Not a drop. Do you hear me, Abram?_

Exy was a comparatively violent sport, but with the right padding, no blood should have hit the court.

The optimal word being _should._ It did. It had. Neil knew immediately, and not only because the scent of blood burst from Andrew’s goal. An opposing striker had caught him under the chin with their racquet. Not expecting it, he hadn’t kept his cheek out of the way of his teeth.

That was how the striker received a yellow card while Andrew spat blood on the polished court floor next to his net.

That was how the Foxes came within two points from losing the first home game of the season.

After the game and in locker room, Kevin stepped into Neil’s space and asked him what the _hell_ he’d thought he’d been doing during the last ten minutes.

“Coach may have called time to give me a lecture on staying focused,” Neil shot back, “but at least I didn’t walk away with a red card.”

At that, Kevin pulled a face reminiscent of a man swallowing a peeled lemon. Neil raised one eyebrow in challenge, just daring him to admit his distraction.

(Neil wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Andrew smelled good on a day-to-day basis; while most people did and most people weren’t hard to ignore, Andrew was not most people.)

“Guys, guys! We won! What’s there to get angry about?”

That was Nicky’s attempt at placating, his dirty jersey waved like a flag to break up their staring contest. Matt, one locker down, snort-laughed at him and remarked on Kevin’s never-rest attitude making sure they all stayed _on target._ The newer Foxes grumbled consent in tones much less generous.

Head tilted, Andrew stood behind Kevin and watched their tense exchange with a believably uninterested expression. When he prodded at the abbrasion in his cheek, it throbbed hot and painful.

Thinking to when the game had gone south, he sucked in his cheek and scraped a tooth over the cut. Raw healing skin broke; copper trickled in.

Neil’s eyes caught his around Kevin’s side. Though thought impossible, Kevin stiffened further.

“I thought you ate before the game,” Andrew commented, idle and (despite himself) curious.

Nicky, rather than Neil or Kevin, asked: “Ate?”

A pause. Realization hit, and he dropped his shirt.

“Ooh,” Nicky laughed, nervous and anxious and everything Neil worried about in one unfortunate package, “right, _right._ Yeah! You guys totally ate before the game, didn’t you?”

“Yes, we did,” Kevin snapped, the irritation over his bad play rising ever higher.

Andrew asking odd questions was easy for the others to write off, but Nicky had toed a very real line of discretion since the beginning. By the miracle of Nicky’s social awkwardness and the Foxes’ general gullibility aloe did their teammates not put two and two together.

Kevin and Neil _hated_ relying on miracles.

“Why would you do that?” A newer Fox asked. “Seems like a gauranteed way to throw up your dinner.”

“They’re throwing their usual hissy fit over nothing,” another muttered into his locker, “they can’t be that sick.”

The first snickered.

The lack of wit cut more than his teeth on the cut. Andrew had once asked Kevin if he’d even considered draining a teammate dry, if only because he knew discussing his affliction in the context of Exy annoyed the shit out of him. Kevin had said no, but he had taken a moment.

Neil had said no, too. Unlike Kevin, he immediately added that his abstinence existed solely because he didn’t want to risk leaving a trail.

“Why are we talking about dinner?” Matt asked, confused.

“Never mind,” Neil cut in, tore his eyes from Andrew, and shouldered past Kevin. “I’m showering.”

The newer Foxes’ conversation returned to the game. They hadn’t noticed Neil and Kevin’s distraction, of course; they were new, and didn’t know exceptional was the starting strikers’ baseline.

Matt had noticed, but would not bring it up. Nicky and Aaron, the same. The Coach would remember and watch, but he had no idea what he had on his team.

Andrew prodded at the cut in his cheek again, its pain jouncing his post-game exhaustion from him. The start of another season - of the final season with Kevin Day, of the first season without Riko, of a dozen implications in between - settled heavy as a wool cloak on his shoulders. It warmed as embers in an ashy pit. It tasted like a beginning to something a little different.

—

There were do’s and don’t’s to dating vampires.

(Not that they were dating. But from the outside looking in, Andrew could see why someone may make the mistake.)

There were precautions to be made and systematically disregarded, or so claimed the movies. The truth was: there were assholes that were also vampires, and those assholes were conscientious of their place in society, the hunters that would love to make a pretty penny off harvested vampire parts and the very real worry of accidentally turning those they dated into a vampire as well.

Not that Neil had known _how_ to turn a person until Kevin instructed him. Though distinctly more complicated than sticking fangs into a human’s neck, Neil struggled with control enough as it was to want to risk drinking a drop of Andrew’s blood.

With how much they all bled, that Neil had gone so long without was– interesting.

Or so Andrew thought until he learned Neil looked at him with a disgusting amount of devotion whether or not he was a week out from his last meal. Then it was just pathetic.

Let it be clear: Andrew did not fancy becoming a vampire. It seemed more work than it was worth, especially as their life spans stretched beyond human comprehension. They aged the same to a point.

 _After that point,_ Kevin said with peculiar hesitance, _they… deteriorated._

Andrew had deadpanned, _A few wrinkles on the thousandth year birthday? Dreadful._

 _More monster,_ Kevin corrected, _less human. One reason Lord Moriyama doesn’t do televised interviews any longer is because of he can’t retract his fangs._

That, Andrew admitted to himself, was more interesting than the media had led him to believe.

Not that he was an expert on vampire lore - he hadn’t seen Twilight, he hadn’t read Dracula, he knew Nostradamus strictly in relation to his own acts as told by another - but there were certain measures he had taken to ensure he didn’t accidentally murder his protected charges because they were, in fact, deathly allergic to garlic.

(That they weren’t was more disappointing than Andrew had thought possible.)

Those measures were predominantly composed of asking Kevin Day questions about vampires at the worst possible times. Unfortunately, he’d been more apt to question when he’d been medicated, and so he had to repeat a few after rehabilitation. _Fortunately_ , Kevin was more succicent and to the point the second time around.

So. He’d prepared.

He hadn’t prepared for Neil Josten’s stubbornness.

There was no way to prepare for that.

As being blunt was the only way to get anywhere with him, Andrew - the game’s work-out in his veins, the cut in his mouth alive - told his cousin and brother to go on to the party like they wanted, met and stared down Kevin’s suspicious look, and loitered in the locker room until Neil finished his godawful long shower and emerged, hair damp and tousled, shirt and arm bands and jeans in order.

He then said, blunt and to the point, “Do you want a taste?”

Neil, ever oblivious and ever naive even after months, froze like a deer in the headlights.

He didn’t insult them by asking what Andrew meant. He did say, “You can’t be serious,” which Andrew contemplated taking offense at and decided it wasn’t worth it. Neil was a fool.

Neil stepped back when he nudged him to. Neil gasped, “Yes, alright,” just before his back hit a locker and Andrew pressed his shoulders flat.

They kissed.

The locker clanged as Neil jerked his head back. “ _Wait_ , you have a–”

“I know,” Andrew said, trying for patience (Neil claimed to be able to smell blood from across a stadium, but he had missed Andrew’s reopened cut?), “I’m the one the striker caught in the jaw.”

Frown light, Neil’s eyes narrowed. “He was shit. He couldn’t coordinate a defense to save his life.”

“Says the one who regularly ignores our new backliners.”

“Their lack of effort slows me down.”

“Be careful, Josten. You’re sounding like Day.”

“He’s not always wrong.”

This was not the talk Andrew had planned.

He cupped Neil’s scarred cheek, his thumb brushing under the bubbled remnants of burns. While Neil healed extraordinarily fast in all other situations, the weapons his former family had used on him had been polished silver. His father couldn’t touch the silver himself, but he could cut with his iron axe and let his lackeys swoop in with the glinting blades. Unlike every other mark, what Neil suffered in Baltimore would not leave.

That was fine. The man in front of him was Neil Josten through and through: an Exy junkie that tilted his head into Andrew’s hand, his eyes hooded and the corner of his mouth raising.

Just before Andrew snapped at him to knock it off (especially after Neil admonished him about _Exy_ ), he rewound the last few seconds and realized it had, in fact, been longer than he’d thought. And here they were, standing like dunces and staring into each other’s eyes.

Annoying.

Apropos of nothing, Neil guffawed.

Bumping his nose against Neil’s, lips a breath from the other’s, Andrew covered how exposed he felt with a low, “Kiss me.”

“Your breath stinks,” Neil said. He shifted his weight. Under the hand Andrew had on his shoulder, muscles tensed and relaxed, Neil’s skin cool to the touch despite his undoubtedly scalding hot shower and t-shirt.

By brute strength, Neil could snap him in half.

By character, Andrew learned to trust that Neil wouldn’t.

“Is that a no?”

“Andrew,” Neil huffed, whispered or whined. “I don’t know. Kevin and I went over old tactics until too late last night. We missed dinner.”

That had been obvious.

And that was fine. Andrew pulled back.

Neil’s hands found his shirt collar. With very little exertion, he reeled himself into Andrew’s space and slotted their mouths together.

 _That_ was as Andrew _had_ planned, and fine besides.

Andrew pushed back. Neil once again hit the lockers and Andrew swallowed his noise of surprise and his noise of encouragement and, finally, his noise of relief, all of which Andrew would mirror if he had the breath.

Neil chilled Andrew everywhere they touched (the mouth, their hands, nothing else, nothing less). Though he ran a few degrees colder, he couldn’t ice the burn Andrew’s inner cheek took up from so much movement.   
Neil seemed to avoid that area. Compared to how he quickly he still fell apart, the kiss struck Andrew as restrained.

That was fine. He would not push it.

Rather, he reached for and tangled his fingers with Neil’s, sliding their joined hands up over Neil’s head to pin against rapidly warming metal. Neil did not sag back and let Andrew do entirely what he wanted as he used to – instead, he stretched up, forced Andrew’s head to tilt up to follow, and then had the gall to breathe a laugh when Andrew muttered at him to quit standing on his tip toes.

He also dropped back to within Andrew’s mouth’s reach, which meant he _had_ been standing on his tip toes.

Warmth bubbled up. To stoke or smother the embers (Andrew hadn’t decided) he snagged Neil’s chin and set his teeth, light, to his lip. He untangled his fingers in lieu of fisting a hand in Neil’s shirt and tugging him away from the line of lockers.

 _That_ made Neil loosen. He swayed to Andrew; he bent, his hesitation gone; when Andrew found by memory alone a bench and sat, his invitation clear, Neil climbed into his lap without a word.

The others would be pissed if they saw them in the middle of the locker room, but they had done this more times than the Foxes would ever know. Andrew’s hands settled on the jut of Neil’s hips, tugging him forward even as he sank down; Neil had his arms over Andrew’s shoulders, his fingers undoubtedly laced behind Andrew’s head; they breathed together, they barely breathed at all, Neil warmed and moaned and Andrew’s mouth felt on fire.

Once, pain had been what he’d do anything to avoid; once, it had been salvation, a release; once, it had meant something. Then it was ash, grey and fleeting.

 _Now_ , Neil’s tongue prodding at the cut in his mouth, it burned anew. The pain made him hiss, sharp and small as it was.

(Neil did not back off at the noise. That was an oddity Andrew noticed, and elected to ignore.)

When exactly the skin broke, he couldn’t say. It was the third time that day. He had another, larger distraction to pay attention to. He rather liked the feel of Neil’s skin under his hands, his shirt bunching up, and how Neil shifted his weight on his lap, not demanding or forceful but wanting, so wanting, and just barely waiting.

He didn’t notice the cut re-opening.

And he wouldn’t have if Neil hadn’t shuddered, the weight lifting abruptly off his lap and the whole of his body curving over Andrew. The noise that fell from his throat shot through Andrew: it was long, and low, and belonged in the gutter.

Neil’s hands clutched his shoulders, his grip a steel vice. His knees dug into Andrew’s legs. He would not break for breath. He shuddered again, a tremor Andrew felt and watched, his kisses bruising, his breathing desperate–

Andrew snapped his mouth closed.

He very nearly took off the end of Neil’s tongue. He was not sorry.

Because even in desperation he was Neil Josten, through and through, Neil crumbled into Andrew, his eyes foggy and confused and glued to Andrew’s mouth, his arms limp over his shoulders, his legs splayed to either side.

“Neil,” Andrew reminded him, and did not revel in his own control.

His heart raced.

Slowly, Neil blinked.

Andrew saw realization strike. Neil’s shoulders stiffened, his expression shuttering.

Once, Andrew would have left him to it. Guilt and shame was Neil’s business, not Andrew’s.

Now, he tightened his grip on Neil’s hips and told him, “Give it a moment. That wasn’t your fault.”

(He was not privy to most of the vampire-specific lessons Kevin attempted to impart on Neil, but he knew that had moral played a large part. It was astounishing to know, if only because it was Kevin.)

Neil’s expression told him that he very much disagreed, but he didn’t pull away. He looked at once in need of space and to not be alone. Andrew compromised the paradox by keeping still and pointedly looking over his shoulder.

In his head, Andrew counted off the seconds Neil took to relax enough to speak.

“I could hurt you. Seriously hurt you.”

“You couldn’t.”

“No?”

“You won’t,” Andrew corrected, the words bitter in his mouth for a reason unrelated to Neil’s vampirism, a reason all about Andrew Minyard, “so it doesn’t make a difference.”

Neil licked his lips, brows furrowed. He looked ready to argue. He would argue. Not once had Neil acted less than completely human in the midst of their exchanges. Of course in his infinite wisdom and gift for timing, would he try to bring it up _now._ And of course, of course, he’d work himself into a dozen different knots about something that wasn’t nearly so complicated.

(Though he pretended at kindness by taking his time about it, Neil would drive him to the grave. Andrew knew this to be fact.)

Ever one for cutting out the middleman, Andrew went for the throat.

“Do you trust me?”

“Always.” Neil answered without a shred of hesitation. And then his face crumpled, the follow-up clarification clear as day: _but I don’t trust myself._

Andrew’s heart skipped a–

_Stupid._

“Then,” Andrew said, “trust me.”

Tangling a hand in Neil’s hair, he pulled him closer. He tucked his head against his neck, Neil’s mouth fit to the line of muscle he so loved to play with. For the first time in months, Neil met him stiff and unsure. He loosened only while Andrew moved no further, his only movement to comb light and gentle through damp curls, the arm he had around his back loose. He would always be willing to wait.

Neil, Andrew felt certain, was trying not to breathe. That would not do.

“You don’t know–” Neil started, protest quiet and voice tight with an emotion they would not name.

“ _Trust me_ ,” Andrew repeated, and silently cursed him. Only Josten would have him sounding like a broken record. “It’ll be fine.”

“What, if I drain you dry?” A beat. With a touch of shock: “ _Andrew?_ ”

“Try as you might, you’re not a complete beast,” and yes, he had wondered about it, he wouldn’t be encouraging anything he hadn’t thought over a thousand times, “I’ve had to sit through Kevin complaining about your diet enough times to know you rarely finish a meal.”

“I’m not going to eat you.”

“I think I’ll take offense to that.”

“Not because you stink, though you do. You– smell delicious.”

Andrew, hands stilling, though: _that’s a first_.

Neil attempted to draw back.

Andrew said, “Try.”

Neil froze. Andrew could just meet his eyes without turning his head. Blue stared at him as if he were mad (and not in the worst way), which was not new. The best remedy for that, Andrew knew, was to act as if he had planned it all along. He was good at that. After all, what he decided he never regretted.

“Your obliviousness never fails to impress, Neil.” Strangely, curiously, an interesting feeling he had realized but hadn’t managed to put into words until then: “Know that I want you to try. Let me trust you in this.”

Neil’s eyes jumped to over Andrew’s shoulder. His fingers twisted in the hem of Andrew’s shirt, his shoulders bowed and thoughts churning.

The game felt so far away. It was a miracle no one had retured looking for Neil Josten – the upperclassmen liked to drag him off, though they’d learned to leave him be if the two of them were together. Andrew suspected it was a choice they made more out of respect for Neil than fear for him, a thought that led to the one and only point of nostalgia for Andrew Minyard.

Of his own accord, Neil leaned forward. Nose brushing Andrew’s jaw ( _Josten had that move down to an art, obsessed as he was_ ), his breath ghosted over Andrew’s warmed skin. He nuzzled into place, and Andrew shivered, heat returning to his belly. Nails scratched, still light and gentle, at Neil’s scalp. Neil, slowly, relaxed.

For a few seconds, all they held was each other.

(In between the game, the victory, the rush, the kissing – it was the best few seconds of the evening, and Andrew was sure it would remain so by the end of the night.)

His heartbeat felt too loud and too strong against Neil’s dry lips. It drummed itself into a pounding beat in his ears, the anticipation over what Neil could do sharp and _new._

Being with Neil felt like falling, always. Time and again, the floor dropped from under him, his breath stolen and thoughts crumbling.

Falling never grew old.

But this anticipation, it was new.

_If he bled, he bled for–_

Neil took a deep breath and let it out slow and shaky. Andrew felt the shift: soft lips exchanged for bone, teeth he knew would be sharp and thin as a snake’s.

Vampires could wait a month in between eating, stretching their energy reserves from full moon to full moon. But by then they would need to drain an entire human, and that, as Kevin had needlessly informed Andrew, was suspicious. Once a week curbed hunger and kept their energy up. One day off from that count would not make a monster out of a beast, but it would up their temptation.

That was the perfect time to address this, Andrew thought. Neil possessed control. Whatever he took would not kill - he would stop before that. Andrew trusted him to. They’d established that.

And yet, Neil didn’t move.

Anticipation a dagger between his ribs, tension rose until even Andrew felt the need to break it.

“Neil?”

“Mmnh?”

“Talk to me.”

“You smell–,” a choked sound, a hasty swallow, a little dark humor in Neil’s voice, “delicious. I, ah. Can’t quit…”

“Can’t quit what?”

“Mmn.”

“Neil.”

“Drooling.”

Andrew blinked.

Then he wondered why he had expected anything else.

“Really annoying,” Neil said. He did indeed sound in the process of gargling water.

“You’re telling me. I have to picture it.”

That, at last, startled a laugh from him. It was a small thing from a man still unused to clean amusement, a little huff of breath that Andrew recognized in himself. It came from drooling over _Andrew._

It threatened to turn up the corners of his mouth; instead, he pressed his fingers to the back of Neil’s skull, and Neil, with a quiet _oh_ and a sound that suspiciously resembled _right_ , returned his mouth to Andrew’s neck.

This time, he bit.

Andrew, versed in the art of remaining quiet through whatever he wanted to, startled himself with a hiss, his back arching.

Neil tried to draw back. Andrew kept him where he was, and found his voice to say, “Don’t you dare.”

Neil did not try to draw back again.

It felt like burning. Like bit by bit, Neil would char the flesh from his bones and turn his marrow into ash. Like dying, or the threat of it. For Andrew, it felt like living. It was nothing he’d felt before; it was what he had asked Neil to do; it was only between them.

Pain spread white-hot and sharp, and worsened every time he so much as swallowed. He held his breath - his lungs burned - his fingers tightened in hair and cloth, Neil’s mirroring the grip in his shirt front. He half-wished they were not seated on a bench in an echo chamber of a locker room, and that he could push Neil back into a wall without spooking him.

Neil hummed from deep in his throat, content and happy and pleased, his weight once again shifting forward toward Andrew. This was yet another new side of him, for hell if Neil Josten was ever _one-sided_ or _boring_.

His lungs burned.

His blood pounded through his ears too loud.

Andrew tugged, just once, on Neil’s hair.

As if a light had been switched, he let go. Not a second after, he pressed his tongue flat over where he bit, the pain washing away into a tingling numbness, and, together, as one, they breathed.

Andrew caressed his tumb along Neil’s nape. The muscles under his palm flexed, Neil’s shoulders rising and falling.

“You said I was disgusting.”

“I lied. Is that a surprise?”

(Kevin received most of their meals from a local blood drive. How long had it been since Neil took from a live human?)

Because he had to show he possessed as little survival instincts as Andrew, he then nuzzled into the soft skin behind his ear. Again Andrew tugged at his hair, but this time, Neil refused to back off, his cheek pressing against Andrew’s as if he were some overgrown cat.

The longer they stayed together, the worse Neil’s habits became. He craved affection, craved reaffirmation, craved touch and warmth.

That was all well and good, but a partner with the average body temperature of a mostly melted bag of ice slipping his hands up your chest could give a bad shock in the middle of the night, whether or not you expected his touch.

Again Neil shifted his weight, one leg rising and ass pressin–

“ _Neil_ ,” Andrew warned.

“Fuck,” Neil laughed, pulling back to look Andrew in the face, his fangs little pink pinpricks behind reddened lips, “did that turn you on?”

Andrew contemplated shoving him off.

He contemplated and then, hands on Neil’s chest, did.

(The locker room was still an echo chamber, yes, but the cement was sturdy as anywhere else’s. Andrew made sure to appreciate that with Neil’s back flush against the wall.)


End file.
